


The High Holidays

by packyourknivesandgo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, jimlock, sheriarty week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/packyourknivesandgo/pseuds/packyourknivesandgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Sherlock ever saw Jim wasn't at the pool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The High Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece I’ve ever written long enough to be something other than a head canon. I have no clue where the idea for this came from, but I tried to just go with it. Technically, it’s supposed to fit today’s Sheriarty Week theme (angst), but I don’t think I achieved that goal. I like the idea of a Sherlock who had to adopt the motto “fake it until you make it” to develop his self-confidence. Anyway, I hope you like it.
> 
> *Please don’t be offended by the term "gay high holidays". My friends and I all used to call certain days this as a joke because that’s when they and all of their friends would be guaranteed to be at the club.

Younger Sherlock, in his twenties, was not so secure in his self-confidence as he became in his thirties.

The truth is that he had seen Jim Moriarty before they officially met at the pool.

Sherlock, when he could get away from Mycroft’s prying eyes, would steal away to shadier “alternative lifestyle” bars. Sherlock usually saved his outings for the gay high holidays*, such as Cinco de Mayo, St. Patrick’s Day, and of course, Madonna’s birthday. There was safety in numbers, and Sherlock knew that he could really lose himself in a crowd during these holidays.

But Sherlock didn’t exactly lose himself in the crowed.

He watched, dreaming of the life that he longed to lead.

On St. Patrick’s Day eve, as he was sitting at his usual corner booth, he observed a diminutive man with slicked back hair and a “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” t-shirt saunter through the door and step onto the dance floor. Clearly possessing the self-confidence that Sherlock lacked at the time, the man headed straight to the wall of mirrors and started dancing in front of it.

That’s when it happened.

While Sherlock was watching the man writhe in rhythm to the blaring bass, he got caught in the reflection of the mirror.

I’m so stupid, Sherlock thought. Now he’s seen me, and he’s going to think that I’m one of those people who get off on creepily watching others.

Despite these thoughts running through Sherlock’s head, he could not rip his gaze away from the piercing stare he was receiving from the Irishman—or rather, the Irishman’s reflection.

When the man finally tore his gaze away from the cowering detective, Sherlock was able to momentarily regain his wits in time to realize that the man was walking toward him.

Shit! Wait for it, Sherlock thought.

The man was trying to get through a particularly crowded part of the club filled with a sizable group of people who all seemed to know each other.

Now.

Sherlock was out of his booth and through the front door of the club before the man could make it to where he was sitting.

That was close, Sherlock considered. It was thrilling, but close. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened had I stayed.

Jim Moriarty knew who he was approaching, but he thought that perhaps genius detective would never put it together. That is, until the day they met at the pool.


End file.
